You Are My Sunshine
by accio-feels
Summary: For the upteenth time, Sherlock Holmes has hurt Molly's feelings. He'll try the best he can to have her forgive him. With a new threat in store for John, Sherlock, Molly and Lestrade, all, apologising to Molly may be the least of his concerns. Rated T to be safe. This is my first multi-chap! Huzzah!
1. You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

"Are you joking?" Sherlock asked, his face stony as he glared at Molly.

She looked at him, shocked.

"N-no?"

He threw his hand on the bench and stood up. "This is ridiculous, Molly! I need your help _now_!"

Molly took a step back looking over to John for help. The doctor was missing. Sherlock had ordered him to get his laptop from Baker Street. John was going to be done for at least ten more minutes and here Molly was, trying to handle the creature that was Sherlock Holmes.

"P-please, Sherlock, I just want to go on a date with my friend!" she took a few more steps back, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

"For Christ's sake!" he flailed his arms around and rushed about the lab, picking up bits and pieces. He looked over at Molly who was standing gobsmacked over his outburst. "What are you doing just standing there? Either get out, or help out!" he spat out before beginning to work again.

She rushed out, tears beginning to fall down he cheek while John walked up to Sherlock.

"Are you alright? What happened?" John asked, alarm written all over his face.

"I have a date," Molly choked out, her sentence thin and John just managed to catch the words.

He shifted on his feet, looking down at the ground with disappointment. "Look, Molly, don't pay much attention to him. You're perfectly able to live a life and sometimes he just has to accept that. He can't expect you to wait on him hand and foot."

Molly nodded at him and smiled a little. "Thanks, John."

She rushed out and John looked after her before turning around to face the morgue doors. After a deep breath, he took a few steps in and looked around for signs of Sherlock.

"Upstairs!" he heard and rolled his eyes at how unaffected he sounded even after he (as John presumed) verbally abused Molly for (again, John presumed) not being there to help him and leading a life.

The door opened and John took a small step in. He saw Sherlock sitting across from him, his back to the new person. "I knew you'd come back. I need another liver."

"Of course I came back. I have your laptop."

Sherlock spun around and looked at John. "I thought you'd run into… what's this one's name?"

The look on John's face was pure anger. "Poppy," he replied through clenched teeth.

"Right, Polly. Sorry, the condescending English teacher?" Sherlock asked.

"No, apparently she's the hypocritical dentist. And it's Poppy," John told him, again, his teeth clenched.

"Anyway, I wasn't really expecting you to return seeing as Pam-"

"Why on earth would Molly return when she walked out with tears streaming down her face?" John asked, his arms crossed and his patience waring.

"Don't be absurd. Of course I didn't expect Molly to return. She's got a date, apparently."

"You said 'I knew you'd come back' when it was blatantly obvious I would return and Molly was the only other one in here."

Sherlock looked at John with that 'don't-be-so-daft' look he often gave. "You don't even _know _that Molly and I were the only ones here while you were out."

"Just stop this, Sherlock! Get your head out of your arse, it's not a hat! Molly is not going to come back today and she probably won't talk to you in the near future! The world doesn't revolve around you!"

"I'll have you know that the world revolves around the sun. So there." He spun around and looked back at his experiment. "I could use a liver, by the way, if you can get one. Human, preferably and by that, I mean it has to be human."

Meanwhile, Molly had managed to get home, her eyesight clouded with tears as we walked through the busy streets of London and on the tube. She would have been impressed by her achievement had It not been a regular occurrence.

Of course, Toby was nowhere in sight, as cats regularly are, so Molly came home to silence. She looked in the mirror and sighed. Her eyes were red. She knew Felix would never brush it off as nothing and the date would end, about ten to twenty seconds after she arrived, with her in his arms as she cried about what was wrong (everything) and then him being all friend like and trying to help her. On top of that, she wouldn't get another date with him again and she would go back to the morgue to see Sherlock with a smug grin at her sad face and general demeanour. No, he would pick up on everything as soon as she walked in and would make a snide comment such as "how was your date?" and Molly guessed he'd probably elongate his words such as Alan Rickman would.

Molly had a quick shower and changed before trying to put on her mask and take the role of Happy Hooper who was not upset about Sherlock Holmes and was a capable person. Happy Hooper could enjoy a date unlike Miserable Molly was an unlikely favourite at the moment. Felix was going to see Happy Hooper for as long as Molly could manage. After all, no-one wants to take a snivelling girl on a date. Talk about bad first impressions for a first date.

Happy Hooper (or what could be assembled) stood in front of the mirror, practising laughs and fake smile for this evening. Felix was picking her up in ten minutes and Happy Hooper (more like Mediocre Molly) was going to _stay _Happy Hooper no matter what. That included if Sherlock turned up or if Felix asked how her day went. She was going to be happy starting-

The door bell rang and Molly's mask nearly slipped.

"Just a sec, Felix!" she called out.

Starting _now!_


	2. You Make Me Happy When Skies Are Grey

John had abandoned Sherlock, demanding he apologised to Molly. In the meantime, John was going to pop over to her flat and see how she was holding up. When Sherlock offered to come too, John had told him to sod off.

The detective in question had finished his experiments. He was sitting in bed while his fingers were flying over the laptop keys, stopping for a millisecond to stamp it, bringing words to the screen.

**Ways to apologise to Molly:**

**1. Get her a date. She apparently spends a lot of time on those, may be a good idea.**

**2. Buy her a book. She reads a lot.**

**3. Write an apology speech or something. I don't know.**

**4. Buy a new cat for her. Toby is annoying and may end up in an accident, anyway…**

**5. Use hypnosis to convince her that I apologised greatly and that she forgives me for anything I ever do in the future. May require Derren Brown. I'm not very good at hypnosis. May require Mycroft's assistance.**

**6. Compose a song for her. **

**7. Get a flashmob to dance in the morgue. Get them to pretend to be dead. That'll be a hoot.**

**8. Have a plane write 'Sorry Molly' in the sky.**

**9. Kiss her. She seems pretty contempt after I do that. (John, I swear to God it's only been once or twice. And only on her cheek)**

**10. Get her drunk, apologise, and tape her saying she forgives me. Not a very good idea, to be frank. Anything else could happen.**

Sherlock decided to combine a few of his ideas. First, he was going to have 'Sorry Molly' written in the sky while she's walking to work. Then, once she's there, he'll have a flash mob with a song he wrote himself. He'll probably get Derrik to sing it. He's in the homeless network and has a pretty good voice. He'll give her a book, maybe some chocolate, and maybe a toy cat. She'll like that. And then he'll kiss her.

All in all, that night was a productive evening for Sherlock Holmes. The plan was made and all he had to do was compose a song, choreograph a dance for the Homeless Network (or the Holmeless Network, as he thought to himself whilst drunk), buy a few things and hire a plane to write in the sky. He decided to use another phone to tell her to look up while it's being written. Finally, Sherlock would have to get the nerve to kiss Molly Hooper, a feat he was sure he could manage.

He opened a program on his computer to create the song when his phone began to ring. He rolled his eyes and took the device from his pocket.

_DI G. Lestrade._

Sherlock frowned at the caller ID but accepted the call nonetheless.

"Lestrade. This better be at least an eight."

"Sherlock, thank God. We've got a problem!"

The detective propped his feet up on the armchair and sighed. A problem? They've always got a problem. "Go ahead."

"Murder, Sherlock. Seven in one night in the same place. Seven women who all look similar. No DNA found and a shit load of blood."

The ears of the detective pricked up as he heard the last sentence. "Where?"

While Sherlock got a cab to the scene of the crime, John Watson was with Poppy at a café. She was waiting for him while he went and ordered the beverages. He turned around after he ordered to see a man standing next to his girlfriend.

The man was rather scrawny and he looked nervous as though he couldn't show his face in this part of town. He had short brown hair that just touched his ears. It was neat, though. He wore dark jeans and a band shirt. His sneakers were old and worn with paint splatters on them. If John had the mind of Sherlock, he would deduce a mountain of things about this man.

"Poppy," he said as he approached her, his eyes locked on the man standing uninvited by them.

"John, this is Rodger. We used to go out." The brunette motioned up to the man standing by them.

"It was only one date, though," Rodger added, sweating as he looked over at John.

"Right. Erm, nice to meet you, Rodger." John looked down at Poppy who gave her ex a sympathetic smile.

"I best be off. It was great to see you again, Poppy." He smiled at her before walking out, his head down as he stared at the next place his foot would go.

John sank in the chair opposite Poppy and forced a smile. "So, what did he want?"

"Just wanted to say hi, see how everything was going. We were friends back in high school." She replied, shrugging as she did so.

John nodded and looked at his hands. Perhaps Sherlock was right in calling her a hypocritical dentist. He waited for their drinks to arrive and he sat in moderate silence. He sipped at his tea, his eyes watching the saucer as he lifted the tea cup.

"Are you alright?" Poppy asked, biting her lip.

"Uh, yeah. Yes, I'm fine. Just lost in thought," he replied.

He would have given anything to get out of the conversation. For the first time in John's life, a phone call from Sherlock was a life saver.

"John," Sherlock said, the sound of Andeson talking behind him.

"Sherlock, where are you? Are you alright?" John mouthed an apology to Poppy before standing up and rushing out of the café.

"Murder, John. And Anderson. I'll need you as soon as possible. Bring a gun. I need something to kill Anderson with," Sherlock told him as John hailed a cab.

"Oh come on, Sherlock! I'm just trying to do my job!" John heard in the background.

"Where are you, Sherlock? I'll be there in ten minutes."

As John jumped into a cab and sped away, Miss Melancholy Molly was sitting in front of the telly with Toby on her lap. The date had gone exactly as expected. She stepped outside and smiled at Felix who realised there was something wrong. She burst into tears straight away and wrapped her arms around his waist. He took her back inside and called to cancel the booking. Instead, he listened and comforted her while sitting on her sofa, his arms around her, letting her cry onto his shoulder.

Molly was not surprised when he didn't organise an alternative date. After all, who would want to spend time with Miserable Molly?


	3. You Never Know Dear, How Much I Love You

The detective and blogger looked down at the bodies of seven women. They all looked identical. Brown hair, brown eyes, mousy and pale.

"Erm, Sherlock…?"

"Yes, John, I see. Spitting images." Sherlock and John continued to stare at the women who were all lying in bizarre poses, blood pooling around them.

Greg walked over to them and stood by Sherlock, crossing his arms as he walked. "Thoughts?"

"Keep Molly Hooper away from the morgue when you get these bodies in," Sherlock told him.

No-one looked up. Everyone stared at the body and the silent contract was made. Molly Hooper was never to know about these murders. She could never know how similar those women looked. She could never know that she could be another target.

"How do we catch them?" Lestrade asked, breaking Sherlock from his trance.

He looked up from the bodies and around at all the forensics and police officers. "Everyone out now."

Grumbling, people began to leave, some shooting Lestrade glares as they did so. "What are you thinking, Sherlock?"

"Every woman who looks similar is a potential target and need to be protected. No woman is safe," Sherlock replied.

"I could've told you that," a forensics woman grumbled under her breath while walking out.

Sherlock began to deduce what he could about the women. All he could see, however, was the face of Molly Hooper on each and every one of them. He decided that he needed to apologise to Molly before it was too late. Given the current circumstance (and the fact he just finished watching the TV series _Hannibal_) Sherlock had decided that the killer may be looking for his golden ticket amongst all the women of London. As ineffectual a _Hannibal _was, Will Graham may have had a point that rings true. However, Sherlock was not a psychoanalyst and any psychoanalysts he met were more often than not pretentious arseholes. He hoped for Molly's sake that she was not the golden ticket nor seen by the murderer.

Sherlock's head began to reel. Was Moriarty behind this? Was this his way of letting Sherlock know that he knew of all the connections Sherlock possessed? No matter what this was, Sherlock was going to keep Molly safe, even if that meant locking her in her flat for the rest of her life. Maybe not that extreme… Sherlock still needed his pathologist. And he'd probably forget to feed her. And she'd be a sitting duck.

"What are you getting?" Sherlock asked John.

Both men sank down beside a woman and began to try and deduce what they could.

"Nothing. The only thing I can think of is Molly and Poppy."

Sherlock froze and looked up at John. "Poppy?"

"My girlfriend! Do you always have to be an insensitive tw-"

"If they look alike, we could use Poppy as bait. We'll have to watch her every move, who she talks to, where she goes, everything. We can catch him."

"Wait, him?"

"It's obvious." Sherlock said before standing up and walking out of the room. The blogger jumped up and followed suit.

There was silence in Molly's flat. She sat alone, thinking about how she could go into work tomorrow with the possibility of Sherlock turning up. She paled thinking about his words. She hadn't seen him at work that day which made her feel so relieved. He hadn't even apologised for the other day, let alone tried to.

Toby had jumped onto her lap moments before the phone rang. She picked him up and walked over to the phone, knowing he'd hiss if she pushed him off her lap.

"Molly Hooper speaking."

A deep voice was on the other end of the phone. "Good evening, Doctor Hooper. It's Boris Wekly here from Bart's. I'm afraid that due to some complications, you and Rochelle have had to switch shifts tomorrow. Is that alright?"

"Of course, Mr Wekly. What time am I starting tomorrow?" she asked, feeling Toby's claws sinking into her shoulder.

"Ten past three, if that suits."

"Alright. Thank you for calling."

And with that, Boris hung up, leaving Molly on the line, wondering what the complications were and why the new employee had to take the busy shift. Molly wasn't going to get home until at least nine that night. Nonetheless, Molly set another alarm on her phone, reminding her to leave at quarter to three the next day.

Little did she know the complication was that the entire investigation team on the seven women case all at the morgue through the morning. Sherlock had requested that Molly got no hint of the case at hand and everyone kept their mouths shut.

John, on the other hand, was ordered to take Polly ("Her name is Poppy, Sherlock!") out to lunch where he was supposed to break up with her. While this was happening, Mycroft and his best men would break into Poppy's flat, bug the entire place, put undetectable microscopes on her clothes and make sure not to move a single thing in case she's a paranoid person or she is very particular and immaculate about everything. And while everyone was doing that, Sherlock was going to sitting in the morgue for most of the day, making sure no-one disturbs the woman too much. He'll watch the autopsy and prepare everything for when Molly arrives at three.

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day for everyone involved.


	4. Please don't take my sunshine away

Molly had woken up at the usual time the next morning. At ten past seven, she rubbed her eyes and crawled out of bed and into the shower. It was only as she was washing her hair that she realised she didn't have to go in until ten past three. With a sigh, she rinsed her hair before getting out of the shower and getting back into her pyjamas. She couldn't get into her work clothes too early; Toby would probably jump on her lap sometime during the morning.

After a bowl of cereal, Molly looked about her flat and frowned. There was nothing for her to do today. She didn't have anything to do or anyone to see that morning. She contemplated going to the morgue to see if Rochelle needed any help. Her mind then flicked over to Sherlock.

She had picked up her phone and was about to dial his number when she froze. He hadn't even apologised to her. Why was she going to try and initiate contact with him when he clearly didn't want anything to do with her.

Molly sat down on her bed and bit her lip. What was she going to do?

As she did so, Sherlock burst through the morgue doors, his coat flapping around like a cape. John Watson was hot on his heels, knowing that at eleven, he was going to be leaving to talk to Poppy. He hated this plan. He somewhat liked Poppy and it wasn't fair that he had to break up with her to get her as bait.

Holmes, on the other hand, had no objections to it. In fact, he volunteered the idea. Lestrade had flailed his arms and said that it was Sherlock's neck on the line. If anything happened to Poppy, Sherlock was never getting another case from Lestrade. The young Holmes had hoped Pamela ("For the last time, it's Poppy! You really need to remember her name if you're using her as bait, Sherlock! You're so insensitive sometimes!") wasn't the golden ticket for the killer. Although, everyone was hoping she wasn't.

Mycroft Holmes sat in his office, briefing all the people involved in this task. He had reminded them to leave everything as is, not to put cameras in her bedroom or bathroom, keep them out of sight, test them once they had been place, to place them at the windows and doors so they could keep an eye on everything, and to watch what they do. Overall, he was rather impressed with what was going to happen and he was happy with his people. If someone entered or exited that flat in any way, Mycroft Holmes was going to be one of the first to know about it.

Lestrade was watching as the new (incompetent) girl was preforming autopsies on the victims of the murders. The cause of the deaths were multiple stab wounds in their backs (Sherlock identifying the weapon straight away) with traces of poison in the wounds themselves. The girls were stabbed with a poison lined knife, getting into their blood stream as the knife was inserted and removed.

He removed himself from the room, beginning to feel stressed about keeping other women alive and to keep Molly away from it all. He was craving a cigarette and he reached into his pocket to get one when someone came into sight.

"Molly? What are you doing here?" he asked, horrified that Molly was standing so close.

"I could ask you the same, Greg. I was just going to see the boss and ask if I could start work now. I don't have anything to do and I know Rochelle might be a bit bogged with all the work." She smiled at him and looked over his shoulder. "Why _are _you here?"

"Erm…" he looked behind him and caught the eye of Sherlock who closed the doors straight away. "Case. I've got Sherlock in checking it out and the forensics team… and John, of course." A partial lie. John was on his way to meet Poppy.

"Oh." Molly looked at the ground, her smile fading. "I thought there was a complication that had Rochelle in now."

"Er, yes, there was. That's why we're in. There… was… an incident but it's being taken care of and you don't need to worry, Molly. I promise."

The pathologist looked at Lestrade and her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't quite believe you, Greg."

"Understandable. It's chaotic in there. I had to take a break."

"Not a smoking one, I hope."

"Of course not," he lied. "Just going to grab some coffee. Are you interested?"

Molly didn't know what to do. On one hand, she wanted to work. On the other, she didn't really want to be near Sherlock just yet. "Alright."

They walked out of Bart's and almost without aim down the streets of London, looking for a non-crowded café. He spotted one and began to walk in when he realised Poppy and John were there.

"Actually, their coffee is terrible. Let's keep walking," he said, trying to get Molly as far away from the action as possible.

"I rather like their coffees…" Molly muttered before continuing to walk.

A few streets later, a voice from behind them startled the duo. "Molly Hooper?"

The woman turned around to see a scrawny man standing there. He appeared nervous as if showing his face in that part of town was going to have him stabbed. He had short, neat brown hair that just touched his ears. He wore dark jeans and a band shirt. The sneakers he wore were old and worn, paint splatters adorning it.

"Rodger?"


	5. I'll Always Love You And Make You Happy

"Rodger?" Molly asked once she had turned around.

The scrawny guy nodded at her and gave a nervous smile. "Yes. I'm glad you remember me."

"How could I forget?" She gave him a hug before turning to Greg. "This is Rodger. We were friends during uni. And we dated at one stage, too."

Greg looked at the guy up and down, trying to remember as much as he could in case anything happened and Rodger had something to do with it.

"Nice to meet you. Anyway, I hate to break up this reunion, but Molly and I really must be going."

"Oh, are you two…" Rodger asked, beginning to sweat a bit. The Detective Inspector was getting suspicious of this man. Who the fuck did he think he was and how dare he just approach Molly Hooper in the streets under these circumstances?!

"NO! No, erm. He's married." Molly gave Greg an awkward smile, her cheeks turning pink as she did.

Lestrade said nothing and just gave a brief nod.

"Oh. Ok. Well, would you be interested in catching up, sometime?" Rodger asked and Lestrade grabbed Molly's arm, apologising in his head if he was hurting her.

"I'm afraid that's not a particularly good idea. She's got a detective friend who keeps a very close eye on his pathologist. It's in everyone's best interest if you don't approach Molly for the time being."

Alarms were ringing in both Molly and Greg's heads. Lestrade thought there was something sus about this man and Molly was catching on. "That's true," she said before taking a step back from Rodger. "Sorry."

Anger flickered on Rodgers face for a moment before he looked nervous again. "No, no. It's fine. I understand how… particular people think particular things. It was nice to see you again, Molly. And it was nice to meet you, DI Lestrade. I hope your wife is well." Rodger turned around and walked away leaving Molly and Lestrade watching him leave.

"What was that about?" Molly asked, fear over her face.

"He gave me a really bad feeling, as stupid as it sounds. There was something odd about his behaviour," he replied, letting go of Molly. "Sorry if I hurt you."

"No, I'm fine." There was an awkward silence for a moment before: "well, I suppose you best get back to Barts. I might go home. I've still got a few hours before work, anyway."

They gave each other a brief goodbye before Lestrade hailed a cab and Molly walked to the underground. That interaction between Lestrade and Rodger had her on edge. Something was really wrong and Molly wanted to know what. Something was happening at the morgue and she was going to dig it up when she got to work at ten past three.

As she got on the tube, John took another sip of his coffee, his table shrouded in silence. "So…" he trailed off and looked around before giving an awkward smile at Poppy.

"Is something wrong, John?"

"No! Of course not. I've just been tied up in a case with Sherlock."

Her nose crinkled at the name. "Him? You know how I feel about you mentioning that bad influence."

"I- yes. Yes. I'm sorry. I forgot. It's a habit."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Bad habit, bad influence."

John dipped his head and nodded. "Sorry."

"Look, John, I just want you to be happy but you need to get away from people like Sherlock flippin' Holmes! He's not a good person."

"Erm, Poppy?" John glanced at his watch. It was ten past eleven and his coffee was getting cold. "I… I think it's best if we split up."

"Sherlock Holmes put you up to this, didn't he?" she asked, fury on her face.

"What? No. It has nothing to do with Sherlock," he told her. '_Anymore,'_ he added to himself.

"Then why?"

"You're so hypocritical all the time. You tell me to stay away from Sherlock but you want me to be happy. Sherlock pulled me up from a dark place and he's my best mate. I can't keep doing this anymore, Poppy. I'm not happy with you."

She stood up, fire in her eyes. "If that's how you see it, so be it. I hope you're happy with your precious Sherlock. You two are adorable together," she spat before storming out.

John grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to Mycroft.

_She should be on her way. We just broke up and she stormed out. I hope you guys are ready to go. –JW._

In a flash, he got his reply. _We're almost one. Just testing now. Everyone will be gone by the time she arrives. Thank you. –MH._

John sighed as he thought about what just happened. Nonetheless, he payed the bill and made his way back to the morgue. Of course, Sherlock was pacing around. Lestrade stood next to him, his forefinger and thumb squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"How's everything been going?" John asked as he walked towards the furious Sherlock.

"He," Sherlock started, pointing at Lestrade, "put her into danger. He took Molly out onto the streets of London and they met-"

"A possible serial killer. I suspect he could be the killer," Lestrade added.

"Wait, what? I need the whole story."

"Molly turned up, hoping to help the new girl, and I was going for a quick break. We went to get coffee and ran into an old friend from uni and an old boyfriend. His name was Rodger. He had short brown hair, brown eyes, dark jeans, band shirt-"

"Wait. I met him. He was wearing old sneakers with paint and such. He's an old boyfriend of Poppy's. They met at high school. We ran into him the other day at a café."

Everyone froze as they processed the information.

"I want information on Rodger now," Sherlock said as he broke out of his trance.

As everyone scrambled to get some information on who this mystery man was, Molly Hooper had begun to get ready for work. It was about eleven thirty and she had nothing to do. She decided that she'd get ready, maybe watch an episode or two of _Glee_ and then head down to the morgue. Boris didn't really mind if she started a little early. Besides, Rochelle usually left early anyway. No-one would know.

The team at the morgue scraped together the little information they could about who Rodger was in a feeble attempt to figure out who he was.

Their efforts, it seemed, was futile. He didn't seem to exist. No-one called Rodger went to Poppy's high school and there were too many people named Rodger to check out a whole university.


	6. If You Will Only Say The Same

The morgue had been tied up and Molly had been allowed to work again. There was not a single sign that the dead women had been in the morgue that morning. In fact, if it hadn't been for the fact that Molly had been at the morgue that day, she would never have known that Sherlock paced around the morgue, wearing a hole into the floor. There was no sign of the people who were bustling around and everything was hidden from Molly, as planned.

Sergeant Donovan and Detective Inspector Lestrade knocked on Poppy's door later that day. The investigating team (Sherlock, John and Greg) decided it was best to get the DI and Sergeant to ask the questions they craved answers for.

Since no-one could find any trace of this so called "Rodger", Lestrade and Donovan were going to ask some questions and won't leave until they had answers. They wanted to know everything Poppy could tell them about Rodger. Everything.

The door opened and they were greeted with a girl who had a resemblance to Molly Hooper.

"Poppy Walsh?" Lestrade asked, already knowing the answer. When she nodded, he pulled out his badge, Donovan following suit. "Detective Inspective Greg Lestrade, Sergeant Sally Donovan. We have some questions about an alleged friend, Rodger, who you came into contact with recently."

Again, she nodded. He could see she was nervous. She had a slight shake to her. Lestrade wasn't going to muck about with attempting a comforting smile. She could be an accomplice to Rodger, a potential murder.

"Come in. We'll talk inside," she told them and opened the door for them.

Lestrade couldn't help but feel her flat was too expensive for this area of London. She had expensive possessions, like the dining table and chairs, for example. She motioned for them to sit down and he did so, wanting this to be over and done with.

"Can we have a pull name for Rodger?" Donovan asked.

"Rodger Beggings," Poppy replied, a frown on her face. "Has he done something wrong?"

"That's what we're trying to find out. You are not under arrest. You do not have to answer any questions. We're just trying to gather as much information about him as possible. Seeing as you are one of the few leads we have on him, all answers you give will be noted. All questions will be based around Rodger Beggings." Donovan informed her, letting her know of the rights she had.

"How did you meet mister Beggings?" Lestrade asked.

"At high school. We became friends in our final years."

"And what high school were you at?"

While Lestrade and Donovan interrogated the suspect, Sherlock was trying to do more research as to who this Rodger was. He was down to one main deduction: Rodger wasn't this man's real name. Of course, he'd have had it since he was at high school, or so Poppy said. Therefore, he suspected that he changed his name when he could do it legally. In the UK, he only had to be 16 to legally change his name. Rodger was not this man's real name.

With that in mind, Sherlock almost stomped over to the morgue to talk to Molly about Rodger. Seeing as he hadn't actually apologised to her yet, he figured he should wait before being so crass.

"John," Sherlock said from the sofa, "interrogate Molly, will you? We have to know everything about this 'Rodger'."

"I'm not interrogating Molly! You're such a prat. Do it yourself!" he called from the kitchen.

"I can't. I haven't apologised yet. I've got a plan but I need to expand on it. In case you haven't noticed, I've been busy!"

"Too busy to apologise?"

"Actually, yes! I have a big thing lined up but I need some time, John! Now, please go and talk to Molly about this."

John gave in and wandered over to visit Molly. He wasn't happy about it, but there was nothing he could do. Sherlock had a temper and he would throw a tantrum if needs be. The woman was performing an autopsy when John sulked in.

"Good afternoon, John. Is Sherlock coming, too?" she greeted.

"No. I'm afraid he just ordered me to come and talk to you and then we have to recalibrate. I've a few questions about Rodger, the bloke you and Greg bumped into today," he told her, walking toward the woman with a scalpel in her hand.

"Why? What's wrong?" she asked, setting the utensil down.

John rubbed the back of his neck before responding. "We think he may be involved with a case and we couldn't find any information about him so we're turning to the people who've had recent encounter with him."

"Oh." Molly said looking at the dead body in front of her. "What do you want to know?"

"First of all, can you tell me what his full name is?" John asked, taking out a notepad from his pocket.

"Rodger Beggings. We met at uni. He was a barista at the local coffee shops."

"You two dated at one stage. Is that correct?"

"Yes. We dated for about five months. He was fired from the coffee shop so he moved back with his parents. That's when we broke up. His parents were really angry that he hadn't been accepted to uni and was just at a coffee shop there to make them think he was."

John gave her a strange look. "That's very odd of him. Why was he fired?"

"He stopped turning up to work on his shifts."

"You said he didn't want his parents to know he wasn't accepted into uni. Was that the only reason he went out there?"

"That's what he told me. He said some of his friends were going there and a girl he liked so he wanted to be near them."

John was confused. This didn't quite add up. "Alright. Do you happen to know where I can find him now?"

The pathologist blushed bright red and frowned. "Well, after Greg came back to the morgue and I headed home, he came back. Rodger caught me a few streets after he left and he told me that he really wanted to meet up. He said that Greg was jealous that we were friends and that he was notorious for pinning anything to anyone. He gave me his address and phone number and told me that we should get together. Then he left."

John froze. Could this man be able to murder? He was beginning to think yes. It seemed he had a type: girls who look like Molly and Poppy. There were no links between the girls except their appearance. Something was wrong and John suspected it had to do with Rodger.

"Alright, thank you for your time, Molly. If we have any other questions, either Lestrade, Sherlock or I will be in touch."

"John, what's the case? Is it about this morning?"

He swallowed hard at her questions. "Yes. It's about this morning. I'm afraid it's very top secret, though. We haven't let the press even have a whiff of it yet. I promise we'll tell you as soon as we can," he told her and gave her a weak smile before rushing back to Baker Street.


	7. But If You Leave Me To Love Another

When John arrived back, he called Lestrade who nearing the end of his interrogation with Poppy.

"Alright. I'll be sure to ask. Thank you." Lestrade hung up and looked over at Poppy. "Did Rodger get accepted into any unis?"

Poppy's frown became even more pronounced as she looked at them. "Of course. He was the top of the year. Every uni was sending him acceptance letters. He could get into whichever he wanted. He decided to go to one of the first to accept because his friends were going there. I got accepted into a different one so we broke up. It was in the summer holidays. I wasn't overly affected, to be honest. We hadn't gone out for long. Besides, I met someone at uni a few months later."

"According to his university girlfriend, he didn't actually go to university. He worked at a coffee shop and hung about. He didn't want his parents to know he didn't get in."

"That's not true at all. Rodger was the top of his class. He showed me the acceptance letters. We went and looked at the schools together. I know for a fact he studied foreign relations, or something along those lines." She crossed her arms and a small smile graced her face.

"Alright. A final question, what's Rodgers real name?"

Poppy paled at Lestrades question. "What do you mean?"

"What we mean is that we can't find any trace of him anywhere. There was no-one by the name of Rodger at your highschool and he wasn't accepted to any unis according to his girlfriend at the time. They met when he was working at a coffee shop. Who is Rodger Beggings really?" Lestrade demanded.

"I don't know. He always called himself that, he told the teachers to call him that. Everyone called him Rodger Beggings. This is the first I've ever heard of him not being called Rodger."

"Is he in the high school year book?" Donovan asked.

"No. He arrived too late to get in. He just excelled at school but he missed the photos and kept his head down."

"Alright. Thank you for your time. If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch," Lestrade said and the duo stood up.

As they left Donovan looked over at Lestrade. "That was suspicious. I don't trust her."

"Everything she said had me question everything. He kept his head down, wasn't in the year book, but he was the top of his classes and was accepted into every uni he applied for. Something is wrong with this and I'm going to need my best sergeant on the job with me. Unless you can't stand being near Sherlock and John."

There was silence for a few seconds as the left the building. "I'll try my best."

As Greg and Sally got into the police car, Molly got a call from one of her friends. She pulled her gloves off and pulled her phone from her pocket.

"Hello, Molly speaking."

"Molly, hi! It's Felix. I was wondering if you'd be interested in a make-up date," the deep voice on the end of the phone said.

"Oh, Felix! I wasn't expecting to hear from you, especially after the other day…"

"I understand that you were stressed and upset. I'm your friend, it's my job to look after you."

"I thought you weren't interested anymore after I didn't hear from you until now."

"Not at all. I wanted to give you some time to get back to your usual self."

Molly felt a smile spread on her face as she heard his words. "That's so nice. I'd love to go on a make-up date."

"Wonderful!" he said, a smile in his voice. "I'm actually at work now so I'll call you later to organise the details."

Molly beamed into the phone. "Great! I'll talk to you then!"

"Of course. Good bye, Molly."

"Bye, Felix!" he hung up the phone and Molly suppressed a squeal.

Felix asked her on another date! Could her day get any better?

As Molly fangirled over her next date, Sherlock sat in his mind palace. Mycroft had given him access to the audio and visual of Poppy's interrogation. To Sherlock's dismay, she was telling the truth the whole time. Something fishy was going on. He was almost leading two lives with Poppy and Molly, both having different stories as to what happened after high school.

Based on what Poppy had said about Rodgers real name, Rodger never officially changed his name, a common occurrence. He had kept his original name on birth certificate and the like, but everyone called him something else. It was like himself. He never changed his name from William in the eyes of the government, but everyone called himself Sherlock and that was who he introduced himself as.

Sherlock had a sinking feeling about Rodger. He couldn't help but feel that this wasn't the killer. In fact, he wasn't sure why anyone would want to go near this "Rodger" willingly. By the description of Lestrade and John, this "man" was a twig. No-one mentioned any charm that this man possessed. In fact, he sounded like a weak person. Why both Molly and Poppy would want anything to do with him shocked Sherlock. According to Poppy, she was popular at school. She was successful, everyone knew her, and she was smart. So what was she doing hanging around a nobody like Rodger? This didn't add up and Sherlock was sure that he wasn't the killer. He had to look elsewhere. And elsewhere he looked.


	8. You'll Regret It All Some Day

**A/N: Hey dearest readers:**

**I just wanted to let you know that I have now written eight chapters (and posted them all) so I think that I might hold back a bit from posting so much so regularly. I think what I'll do (mainly because I love feedback and it's very useful) is ask for four reviews each chapter before I post the next. So yes, for the next chapter, I'm requesting 4 reviews.**

**Opinions?**

* * *

It had been two days since Molly's phone call from Felix and here she was, standing in front of her mirror and feeling pretty for one of the first times in ages. The last time she wore this dress, Sherlock had scoffed at her and walked away, not wanting to have anything to do with it.

She shook her head and picked up her earring. Today was not about Sherlock bloody Holmes. Today was quiet. She didn't see him at the morgue and she didn't expect to see him that evening. She and Felix were going to go out for dinner and she was not going to think about Sherlock freakin' Holmes.

After pushing the earring in, she turned around and picked up her purse from the bathroom counter. She walked out of the small space and into the lounge room where she found Toby sleeping on the sofa.

"Hey Tobes," she said as she reached over and scratched behind his ear.

The cat meowed moments before the doorbell rang. A frown settled on Molly's face as she realised that Felix was early… too early. Nonetheless, she walked over to the door and opened it, being greeted by someone she did not expect to see. A gasp left her lips as she realised who it was.

As she did so, John Watson sank down into his armchair, trying to piece together what he could about this Rodger. It was established that he had changed his name, of course. What he still didn't understand is how he wasn't on record at the high school. Something snapped and he picked up his phone. Sherlock wasn't home and he had to run his idea by someone.

"Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade," a deep voice said on the other end of the phone.

"Greg, it's John. I have a theory about Rodger."

"Go ahead, John."

"You need to ask Poppy if they had any classes together. I don't think he has a family, nor actually enrolled at the school. I think he just hung around the school. Hence, no records. As for how he got acceptance letters, I think he made them himself. Ask if she actually saw these letters or if he just told her about them. I think he's a freeloader."

Greg Lestrade took a few moments to gather his thoughts. "I think you may be right there, John. I've just made a note of those and I'll call her up in the morning. It's getting a little late now. What are Sherlock's opinions on this?"

"I haven't run them by him yet. He popped out a few minutes ago. I suspect he'll be back shortly. I'll get him to call you tomorrow."

"Alright. Thank you for the information, John."

As they hung up, Poppy finished cooking her dinner. In all honesty, she was sad John broke up with her. She liked him a lot and he broke up with her to be "happy". She was happy with him. So why on earth did he break up with her? It couldn't have been about what she said about Sherlock. That's all obvious. He's not a nice person and he kept calling her the hypocritical dentist.

Her phone began to ring and her heart stopped. Was it John asking for her back?

"Hello?"

"Miss Walsh, it's Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard." Her heart sunk and she frowned. Of course it wasn't John. He's such an arse.

"How can I help you?"

Greg ran his fingers through his hair. "Did you ever meet Rodger's parents?"

Poppy was silent for a few seconds. "No. No, I don't think so," she replied, her mind running through the year that they went out.

"Alright. Did you have any classes with him?" Lestrade asked.

"Erm, I don't think I did. He took all the really smart classes and some of the technologies.. But he only had a few classes, as well. I think he did maths, physics, IT…" she trailed off and frowned. "Yes, I think that's it."

Lestrade took a few notes and frowned. "Okay. Thank you, Poppy."

"Not a problem."

John got a call a few minutes later from Greg who filled him in on the conversation they had together.

He nodded his head and frowned.

"The only other question we have," John stated to Greg, "is why did he pretend to go to high school and university with Molly and Poppy? Why did he pretend?"


	9. You Told Me Once, Dear

**_!VERY IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ!_**

**A/N: Hey guys,**

**This is a trigger warning and a general warning for all readers.**

**_Half of the chapter describes in detail the murder of a woman. Think of your mental wellbeing when you read this and please stop if you don't think you can handle it._**

**Please don't read if this is a possible trigger warning or if you generally don't feel comfort. There is no commitment. There is nothing you're missing by not reading it. If you can't read that for whatever reason or feel uncomfortable reading that, the only thing you need to know is that a man killed a woman and there is more than one killer. They remove all traces of themselves from the crime scene. They have an overall boss.**

**This will be sectioned off with the horizontal line thing. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO READ PAST THAT!**

**I'm thinking of all my readers when I write this because I really don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable or have a bad reaction when reading it.**

**Again, I'm going to ask for 4 reviews (even if it's just one word, that's cool too)**

**Khione'sKid.306: **Thank you so much for your review, I really appreciate it! I'm really glad you like how I've done it! I totally understand your dislike for Poppy. I don't like her either and everything with her is a bit sus in my opinion. I feel ya, Mary and John 5evs. I get your point with Sherlock's dismissal of the killer. I'm going to have John make a mention of it. I'm really glad you like the story! (Kisses for you!)

**Mighty Sword: **Thank you so much! I really appreciate it! I wrote a little bit of original stuff and posted it on fictionpress. I really appreciate you much kind words :) (Kisses for you too!)

* * *

Sherlock stood at Molly's door, his head down. He leaned on the door frame, his fingers fiddling with something. "Evening, Molly."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes. Hmm," he looked up at her, his nostrils flaring. "Oh. A date. Did it go_ that_ well with him? Oh, no. It didn't. That's nice of him," he smirked and Molly slammed the door on his face. "Molly, I've got to talk to you!" he yelled through the thick door.

"Go away, Sherlock!" Molly called back, feeling the tears prickling her eyes.

Despite his protests, Molly walked away from the door and back to her room to finish getting ready. She was almost done and Felix was going to be here in half an hour. Better to be early than late.

Sherlock stood outside, pounding on the door and calling her name. This went on for about five minutes when he decided to just watch the door like a hawk from across the porch. As he sat, a man walked up the stairs wearing a suit. He looked over at the door and smiled before directing his attention at Sherlock. His simile dropped straight away and he frowned, his eyebrows furrowing as he did so.

"Erm, hullo," the man said, looking Sherlock up and down. He had black hair gelled back (almost in a Moriarty sort of way…) and looked prim and proper. His eyes were grey and his hands were sweaty.

This kid sure did like Molly. He was very nervous for this date, as he should be. Molly didn't have a very good track record when it came to dates. They either ended in disaster or the date himself was a disaster; an absolute arsehole. Sherlock hoped for Molly's sake it was only the date that went bad, not the man.

"You're Molly's date?" Sherlock asked, knowing he shouldn't have bothered.

"Yes, yes I am."

The door flung open and Molly stood there, beaming at the man. "Hi Felix. Let me just grab my purse and we'll go."

She left the door open as she retreated, not even looking in Sherlock's direction. He rolled his eyes and looked over at the woman's date. This could put a dent in the apology plan.

"Fredrick, is it?" Sherlock asked, holding out his hand to the man.

"No, Felix. You're Sherlock Holmes?" Felix asked, accepting Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock tensed as the man recognised him straight away. The only people who did that wee serial killers, most of the time. "Yes. You're very familiar with me?"

"Oh, no, not really. My sister loves you. We'll have brunch together and all she seems to go on about is the amazing Sherlock Holmes!" Felix laughed and let go of Sherlock's hand. "Gets a little annoying, really. And I can never tell her of this meeting. She'll go berserk!" again, he laughed and Molly stepped outside, her mask on again, Sherlock noticed. "You look stunning, Molly!"

Molly blushed and looked down at the ground before smiling up at the man. She closed the door and glanced over at Sherlock. She frowned and took on an icy demeanour. "Bye, Sherlock."

"It was nice to meet you," Felix said before walking with Molly down to his car.

* * *

**(Trigger Warning)**

While the detective watched them leave, there was a gasped, coked cry of help from across town. Only two people heard it; the killer and the woman. The cut in her neck caused the blood to spill over the skin, skimming down her chest and staining her shirt. She was dropped to the ground where she gasped for air and tried to keep herself alive. She lay down on the ground before she cusped the cut with her hand to no avail. She began to slip out of consciousness as the blood pooled around her body.

"I'm sorry it ended like this," said a sleek voice.

The woman's eyes bulged as he took the knife and brought it to his face. He licked the blade, showing her he blood on his tongue before closing his mouth. He smiled at her, his twisted features, before lowering the knife down to her torso. It rested on her chest, just below her bra.

"One." He pressed the point into her skin, the cool blade penetrating her clothes, sending a shiver down the woman's spine. "Two." He began to thrust the device into her torso while looking at her face. It contorted with pain and he smirked. She faded out of consciousness as he muttered "three."

He brought the knife into her torso, digging deeper and deeper into her flesh, creating a large hole in her body. He drove it further, pressing harder and harder down on the handle. After having enough fun, he pulled the knife out and flipped her over, letting the blood stain her clothes, her skin and the ground. He moved her face so she looked at the wall, as if salvation would drift out. Her limbs were splayed around her dead body.

After sweeping her hair aside, he smiled at his creation and got to work removing all signs of his DNA. The Scotland Yard forensics team would never find him or his accomplices. Their boss would be happy. Tonight alone, six more girls were going to be arriving into the room where they'd face death in a similar fashion.

Oh the life of a serial killer, such a therapeutic time. The gentle, silent drizzle of the blood exiting one's body; it sure did give him a thrill, a rush, if you will.


	10. You Really Loved Me

**A/N: Hey guys.**

**Shout out to the kind **thefaultoflegend. **I absolutely love their fan fics, especially 'How to Apologise to Molly' which I highly recommend you read!**

**On an unrelated note, this is set prior to The Fall, hence why John and Mary aren't together. I do intend to tie this story into that of the show, never fear.**

**Also, another 4 reviews would be fabby dabby! xx**

**Gracias.**

* * *

Sherlock, John and Lestrade stood in the large room two days after Sherlock last saw Molly, just before she left for the date. The trio stared down at the woman who all looked towards the wall, their eyes not in focus. Their limbs were sprawled around them, the blood almost gluing the body to the ground. Anderson and the other forensic idiots were crawling around, trying to find a scrap of DNA they could use.

"What are we going to do?" John asked. Sherlock stared at the woman, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Accept the case."

They heads of both Greg and John snapped up to look at Sherlock.

"You haven't accepted the case?" Greg asked, John's eyebrows furrowing.

"Not officially. We took a look, didn't mean we accepted. But twelve murders of woman who all look the same." He stuffed his hands in his pocket before crouching on the ground to look at all the women.

"I'm sorry. I thought he was onto it," John reassured Greg.

"Understandable. This isn't the first time that twit has done this."

The two men raised their eyebrows at each other and looked over at Sherlock. "Anderson, flip the body," he called.

Anderson rushed over and moved the body of the nearest woman. "Anything?" he asked Sherlock.

"Anderson, the more you stay around, pressing for answers, the more likely I am to think you're the killer." The forensics man blushed and rushed away from the men and back to searching the room with the others.

"Oh, I meant to ask you, Sherlock. How do you know the killer is a man?"

"Because a woman isn't dumb enough to get caught. Have you not seen the arrest ratio of men to women? I highly recommend you do. Puts a dent in some mens self-esteems."

"That means nothing. The killer- or killers- have not left a shred of DNA. The only thing we have is six dead women. It's like the Study in Pink all over again, except we have no clues. So what proof do you have?" John crossed his arms. "For all we know, Poppy could have arranged the murders."

Sherlock was silent for a few moments before responding. "Killers?"

"Yes, maybe more than one. That's not the point, Sherlock."

"Yeah, why are they male?" Lestrade piped in.

Sherlock jumped up and looked at John. "Killers. Plural. More than one." He stared into the distance and nodded. "Yes."

He ran out of the room and Greg sighed. John looked over at him and rolled his eyes. "Bloody git. I best be off."

Lestrade nodded and said goodbye. As he did, Sherlock's fingers typed on his phone outside the building in the night. John exited through the front door and over to the detective.

"John, I need you to ask Molly if her date did anything odd during his date or cut it short." The detective held the phone out to his friend and looked up at the sky. John gave his friend a glare and crossed his arms.

"Why don't you?"

"I haven't apologised yet. I'm working on it, though. I've been busy," he told John.

With a sigh, John took the phone. "You apologise soon." He pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear.

"Sherlock, what do you want?" the meek voice said on the other end.

"It's John, Molly. How are you?"

"Oh! John, sorry. What's wrong?"

"We need to know if anything odd happened during your date or if it was cut short," he told her, hoping she wouldn't ask why he needed to know.

"Not at all. Felix took a quick phone, we continued the date, we left after we finished eating, he stopped at my house for a coffee and then went home," she replied.

John nodded and smiled. "Alright. Thanks, Molly." He hung up and handed the phone to Sherlock. "No problems on the date. He took a phone call, though."

Sherlock nodded and looked back at the exit of the building. "Tell Lestrade that we need the man's phone record. I suspect him."

"On what grounds?" John asked.

"Has it become a habit of yours to question all my latest deductions?" asked Sherlock before crossing his arms. "And if you must know, it's mostly because Molly doesn't have a very good track record with men. Cough, Moriarty." Sherlock said before walking away.

"Sherlock, that doesn't explain-"

"I had the misfortune of meeting him. His name is Rex… something, I'm not sure." Sherlock rolled his eyes before beginning to walk away.

"No, I want proper explanations. You said the killer was male. Why? Also, you suspect Felix. Why?" John asked, running to keep up with his friend.

"Male because the marks left on the women's right wrists were too large to be female, especially with the size of their writs. However, they all differed slightly in appearance. As for Fred… I don't know where to start." Sherlock continued to walk, John still asking questions. "For Christ's sake, John! You don't pay attention! The marks were slight, very slight. They were all at different stages, marking different times that they had been killed. And Fernando…"

"So you've ruled out Moriarty?" John asked.

"He doesn't really like to get his hands dirty. He's got people for that. Now, go talk to Lestrade."

John rolled his eyes and turned around. When he arrived back at the scene, he explained what Sherlock had said, causing Lestrade to frown.

"On what grounds does Sherlock suspect Felix?"

After a short conversation with the Detective Inspector, neither deciding what Sherlock had gotten, John looked at the writs of all the women. He felt foolish for not seeing it and foolish for not checking prior. Sure enough, there were slight marks on the women.

"Well, I'll be damned," John muttered.

Greg's ears pricked up and he walked over to the doctor. "What?"

"Sherlock was right. There are marks on their wrists." He wrapped his hand around the wrist to find that his hand would have taken the same general shape as the mark. "That's supposedly why the killers are male."

"Wait. There's more than one killer? Since when?" Lestrade asked, standing up, fear sketched onto his face.

"Yeah. The sizes all differ, apparently. None female, though."

Greg shook his head and sighed. "We really need to alert the press. Women of this appearance have to know that they aren't safe."

"Oh they know," forensic woman muttered from a few bodies over. John couldn't help but notice that this was the second time he had seen her and the second comment she had made about the security of women. He had to mention this to Sherlock.


	11. And No-One Else Could Come Between

John arrived home a few hours later to see Sherlock lying on the couch.

"How hard is it to pass me my phone?" the detective asked, his voice full of irritation.

"What? I just got home."

Sherlock's eye opened a fraction as he looked at his blogger. "Oh."

Mr Watson rolled his eyes and grabbed the phone, throwing it on the detectives lap. "There."

As it his Sherlock, he opened his eyes to glare at his friend. "Ouch."

"Next time, get it yourself." Sherlock rolled his eyes at John comment and retreated back in his mind palace.

John made himself a cup of tea and sat down in the armchair, looking over at his friend. "Are we still sheltering Molly?"

"Of course."

"And are we on speaking terms with Molly?"

"Not quite."

"Why not?"

"Busy, John."

John crossed his arms and sighed. "You have to apologise."

Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up, removing his hands from their place under his nose. "I know, John. I'm not an idiot. I haven't had time and I'll tell her that the next time I see her. Okay?"

There was silence as John shook his head. "You _are _an idiot. I'm going to bed." He stood up and walked out, leaving Sherlock to sit alone.

"Well, I'm going to work on the apology," he said to himself before retreating to his laptop.

As he unlocked his laptop, Molly sat in her apartment watching _'Glee_'. Felix had joined her and had welcomed her head on his shoulder. Toby had curled up on his lap as well. Molly liked this. She couldn't help but fantasise about Felix and herself getting married and spending their nights like this, comfortable. She really liked him and she hoped that she could continue this relationship. Molly began to drift off with her head on Felix's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. There was something about being here with Molly and Toby that he liked. He wanted this.

There was a knock on the door, making Molly jump.

"Erm, just a sec."

She rushed over to door and took a breath before opening the door.

"Molly, hi! How are you?" the man asked.

Her jaw dropped a fraction but she picked it up straight away. "Rodger."

"Yeah. It's been a while, how've you been?" Molly looked over her shoulder at Felix who gave her an odd look.

"I-I- this isn't really a good time."

"Should I come back later?" Rodger asked, peering over her shoulder.

Molly moved closer to the door frame and brought the door with her, blocking his view. "No."

"A-are you sure?" he stuttered, taking a step back from her.

"Yes. I've been advised against being near you. Can you please leave?" she asked.

Felix got up from the couch and walked behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and opened the door a little more.

"Who are you? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" a frustrated Felix asked.

Rodger took another step back, dipping his head a little. "R-Rodger, I'm friends with Molly."

"We were friends in uni," Molly clarified, looking up at Felix.

"She told you to sod off, so sod off," Felix snarled at Rodger, sending the uninvited guest a few more steps away.

"Yeah… yeah… alright. Felix, take a step off, please?" he asked, taking a few steps away from the door.

"Piss off," Felix said before moving Molly back and slamming the door behind them.

Molly looked up at Felix who had his eyes closed, controlling his breathing. "Thanks, Felix." She wrapped her arms around his neck and snogged him.

At that same moment, Sherlock felt a little sick. Felix wasn't who he appeared to be. There were people revolving around Molly who were terrible people and were lying to her. John was in his room sleeping and was oblivious to the scandal playing out on London streets.

Even Lestrade, who was busy doing paper work in his office, despite the absurd hour, had no idea about how this could pan out. Instead, he was stuck hearing Anderson and Donovan standing outside his office swapping absurd ideas about what was happening.

Anderson was under the impression that it was a woman who looked the same, murdering these women. Donovan didn't see how this could even be conceived. It was a man who had a weird fetish for women who looked like that and was killing anyone who wouldn't go along with it. Anderson thought that was balderdash.

Of course, Molly was oblivious to it all. She sat in Felix's arms, watching _'Glee' _and enjoying the company.

"I like this, Molly," Felix said.

Molly looked up at him and smiled. "Me too. I haven't done anything like this for years," Molly told him. "This is nice."

Felix smiled and kissed her forehead. They both hoped this would happen again, but neither wanted to say anything, fear of "scaring off" the other. They didn't want this to end. But Sherlock did.

With a glance at his watch, Felix let go of Molly and stood up. "I'm sorry, Molly. I've got to go. Duty calls. Dinner tomorrow?" he asked.

"S-sure. I'll text you."

He smiled at her and gave her a hug before rushing out. "See you then!"

The door closed behind him and a head snapped up. "I've been out here for an hour."

"Do you want this to work or not?" Felix asked before grabbing Rodger's elbow and dragging him away from Molly's flat.

"I got a call. That's why I came here. All four arranged have been carried out. Two more?" Rodger asked while being dragged to Felix's car.

"Yes. We can't take Poppy as planned. They've got eyes on her."

"I know," Rodger sighed. "I watched as they installed bugs."

Felix shook his head and got into the front seat. "Molly's going to have to be the final replacement."

"Why not someone else?" Rodger questioned.

With the shake of his head, Felix replied with "to keep the boss at bay."


	12. But Now You've Left Me

**A/N: Hey fantastic readers!**

**I just wanted to let you know that for plot reasons, I have to added an extra thing for murder, not that it's particularly important. Just a heads up. It'll totes make sense at the end… I hope.**

**I'm afraid I'm going to ask for 8 reviews today, seeing as last chapter got te reviews so fast and this is a large chapter. I have to write much more, much fast.**

**Anywho, enjoy.**

* * *

Molly arrived at work the next day with seven dead bodies to perform an autopsy on. She pulled out the first body.

**Sex: **Male

**Age: **36

**Name: **Horace Garfen

**Cause of Death: **Suicide

The body had only just been taken into the morgue, coming down from the hospital. His wife was upstairs, inconsolable. Molly sighed and began her work.

**Sex: **Female

**Age: **34

**Name: **Jennifer Warller

**Cause of Death: **slit throat, stabbed in the heart and torso

This body had been here for a few hours, dead for longer. She was one of the other six to come in. Molly hoped it wasn't a family. She hated when children came in. It always broke her heart.

**Sex: **Female

**Age: **35

**Name: **Helen Bell

**Cause of Death: **slit throat, stabbed in the heart and torso

Molly felt a chill run down her spine. This wasn't a family. Both the woman looked the same, looked like her. Nonetheless, she had a job to do.

**Sex: **Female

**Age: **33

**Name: **Diana Hill

**Cause of Death: **slit throat, stabbed in heart and torso

Her draw dropped as she saw the third body. This was not alright. Molly felt sick looking down at the third woman. She had to get over this.

**Sex: **Female

**Age: **36

**Name: **Page Young

**Cause of Death: **slit throat, stabbed in the heart and torso

Molly stumbled back, looking at the fourth woman. She abandoned the autopsies and grabbed the other two bodies.

They were almost identical.

As Molly rushed to the bathroom, feeling her lunch coming up, Sherlock was pacing around his flat.

"John, we've got a problem."

Watson had just made a cup of tea and was walking to the lounge room with the cup and newspaper.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Felix. If he's not the killer, then he's the mastermind behind it all." Sherlock stopped and watched as his friend took a seat. "I've never been more certain that Molly is in danger."

John opened his newspaper and flicked through. "You don't say? What are we going to do?"

Sherlock thought for a second before responding. "Either kill him or arrest him."

"I think it's probably best if we arrest him, not kill him. I don't think anyone will be very happy if he was murdered, to be honest." John flicked another page and frowned.

"Yes. Molly would have to perform the autopsy. I don't know how she'd feel about that. Oh well, tell Lestrade to arrest that man."

"He's coming around for dinner tonight. We'll tell him then."

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "I'm following him. Text me when you want in." He ran out of the building, grabbing his coat and scarf as he left.

With a roll of his eyes, John sank further into his chair and took a sip of his tea. Today was going to be a relaxing day with no Sherlock.

Sherlock was not going to have a relaxing day. He was two steps behind Felix, watching his every breath, every movement of his toes, every beat of his heart. Sherlock was confused when Felix jumped up and rushed out of the café and to Bart's morgue.

Hot on his tail was Sherlock, confusion sinking in as Molly rushed to greet Felix, tears streaming down her face.

"Felix, thank god you're here!" she cried, jumping into his arms. She sobbed into his shoulder while he rubbed her back.

"It's okay. What's happened?"

"Bodies. Six. Just like me." Sherlock's face dropped as he realised Molly had discovered the secret.

"They're not the first. They're the second lot. Lestrade and Sherlock tried to shield you from it. I'm so sorry, Molly," Felix told her.

Molly squeezed him tighter before calming down. "I'm going to clock out. Will you come back to my place with me? I don't want to be alone," she told him.

Felix nodded and walked with her to see her boss. Sherlock retreated to Felix's car and snuck into the trunk where he waited for Felix to take Molly somewhere. Soon enough, a few minutes later, the car took off.

Molly looked at Felix and frowned. "Where are we going? This is the wrong way to my flat."

"Yes. We're not going to your place. In fact, you won't see it again," Felix snarled in a cold tone. "Don't say a word or you'll die sooner and more painfully."

Molly froze at his cold words and she felt her heart stop when he pulled the gun from his pocket, pressing it against her temple. At a stop sign, he leaned over and pressed some duct tape against her lips. "No more talking, darling," he spat before turning back to the road.

Both Molly and Sherlock felt it was hours later before Felix's car screeched to a hold outside a large, abandoned building on the outskirts of London. Three people exited the car, Sherlock sneaking out as the doors opened and closed. Felix grabbed Molly's arm and dragged her upstairs, no longer seeming to care for her at all. Sherlock stood out the front, calling Lestrade to get there. He sent a quick text to John before running up the stairs to find Molly. She was being pinned against the wall, five girls dead in the room. A knife was pressed against her throat, tears welling in her eyes. The room was small, the hands of the women touching. There was a space for one more person and Molly knew it was going to be here. There were six windows on two walls.

"The final kill," Felix told her, pressing the knife blade against her throat. Molly let out a muffled shout and Felix cupped her chin, squeezing her cheeks. "Oh, Molly. It's not your fault. Blame that Sherlock Holmes. If he hadn't bugged Poppy Walsh's flat, she'd be in your place and you'd be off scot free. Because I am the heart breaker and she broke my heart. It's nothing personal, Molly. Wrong place at the wrong time. And now, you're going to die," he told her, slight pain pressing into his tone, despite his attempts to push it away.

"Nope," Sherlock said as he walked in, texting John as he did so.

Felix sighed and looked at Sherlock. "So stupid. What do you want? To save her? I didn't really want her. Just wanted to get to the magic 18. She was the final." He let go of Molly who ran past Sherlock and out the room. "You can be my final instead. But not at my hands. That's reserved for one and one alone." He snapped his fingers and six murderers flew in from the windows.

"I'm not stupid enough to come here without back up, especially with the knowledge you were going to kill her, leaving her with the five already dead. And since those six have turned up, I belive it's time to introduce my own back up team." Sherlock followed Felix's actions and snapped Is fingers. Lestrade and the team from Scotland Yard rushed in from knowing that you've got five dead bodies and six murderers in this room, ready to kill me. I brought my own squad."

"Until next time, Sherlock Holmes." Felix retreatded to a smashed window and began to scale the building.

"I'll go after Ferguson. You handle them," Sherlock told Lestrade before running to the window.

Felix jumped out the nearest window and onto the ledge. He scaled the building, climbing to the fifth floor before breaking a window and jumping in. After a grumble, Sherlock followed suit.

As Sherlock reached the fifth floor, John rushed towards the building, as per Sherlock's orders. It was easy to find, one just had to follow the police cars streaming out of the heart of London. John had just paid the cabbie who was about to take off when Molly shot past him, pulling tape off from her face.

"Molly?" John called out, causing the woman to look behind her.

She stopped and began to cry. "Oh John! Thank goodness! It was Felix! He tried to kill me!" she gasped out.

"Are you alright? Any injuries?" he asked, the doctor in him kicking in straight away.

"No, no. I'm fine. Shock, I think. But other than, I'm alright."

"What happened, Molly?"

She recounted the events, in a very vague manor before bursting into tears again. "I'm sorry. I'm going to go home and blot the door extra tight."

John didn't want to leave her but at the same time, he had to find Sherlock. Instead, he hailed the cab again, gave her some money and sent her on her way. Sure, he didn't trust cabbies 100% but he had no other option than to bring her in.

For now, Molly Hooper was safe.


	13. (Half-Way Chapter)

**A/N: Hey readers!**

**Just wanted to add a little desire to getting the next chapter. So, I've had 4 reviews on the last chapter and I ****_know _**** I said 8, but this is a half way chapter. It's half way between this and the next. It's not enough to be its own chapter but it's not really fitting into the next one so I've decided to put it like this. So just two reviews on this "chapter" and I'll post the next chapter as soon as it's done! Thanks!**

**x**

* * *

It had been a week since Molly's near death experience. She had sent a short 'thank you' text to Sherlock who replied with a 'I'll apologise soon' text. Sherlock was pacing around 221B Baker Street, trying to plot how he was going to catch Felix. The scum had escaped but his murderers were caught by Lestrade. They had all been taken in for questioning and all refused to share their secrets. Except one.

"So now you know all about Rodger. What mystery lies?" John asked, watching Sherlock wear a hole in the floor.

"Please. Boris was not really a mystery. I had figured out almost everything about him. You could practically smell the desperation and loneliness he emitted."

"He's almost like Batman," replied the blogger while sitting down in his armchair.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned. "That's absurd, John. How can a bat become a man? Does he want fruit or blood?" With a sigh, Sherlock got back to pacing.

Words can't even begin to describe how John was feeling at Sherlock's stupid words. "Erm, sure, Sherlock. But what are you going to do now?"

"I think Moriarty is going to strike soon. We, I mean you, need to keep an eye on the news and tell me what happens because I don't want stupid things clouding my mind. Also, keep an eye on my phone. I'm off to get some cases from Lestrade," Sherlock demanded before stalking out of 221B Baker Street, grabbing his coat and scarf as he left.

"Of bloody course I got the desk job," he grumbled at his friend who was long gone.

As Sherlock rushed off to Scotland Yard, Molly sat at home and contemplated the meaning of life. What was her life even? She had just managed to survive a serial killer and here she was, just living her bland life. She could add Felix to the ever-growing list of boyfriends who have turned out to be serial killers.


	14. And Love Another

**A/N: Hey guys,**

**The Molly Look-Alike case was set in between episode two and three of ****_Sherlock _****season 2. During the third episode, The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock and John have the case of the kidnapped children. Sherlock was analysing stuff at Bart's with Molly and John. Sherlock made a reference to the terrible boyfriends Molly's had before flashing her some food. In the gospel according to me, Sherlock told her he was sorry but he was going to do a proper thing. Since then, they haven't said anything about it.**

**Basically, there was a time break between last chapter and this chapter.**

**I hope that made sense.**

**One more thing, six reviews for the next chapter because you love me 3**

**Thanks! x**

"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John."

"No. Don't. No. SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock spread his arms to either side and fell to the ground. Molly stared out the window, watching as he fell. She cringed as he got closer, even though she knew he was going to be fine, not even a scratch. She couldn't help but feel worried for him. She couldn't help but feel scared. What if it didn't work out? What if the plan failed?

A few minutes late, she received a phone call.

"Hello?"

"Molly."

"Sherlock? How did it go?" she asked, biting her lip.

"According to plan. I want to thank you, Molly. Thank you for all the help. Thank you for everything." Molly could hear his breathing getting heavier as he spoke.

"Are you running?"

With a sigh, Sherlock replied. "Of course. I have to get as far away from London as possible, now. And I think you're about to get a client. I'll see you soon, Molly. Look after yourself."

"S-sure thing, Sherlock. You too. I don't want to see any injuries next time I see you," she told him, a small smile in her voice.

"No guarantees. Bye, Molly."

"Bye. See you soon."

He hung up and she let out a sigh before turning around. The show was about to begin. A body was wheeled in, a familiar curly mop resting there. Molly felt her heart drop seeing the deceased body that looked just like the person she loved. She wondered what Sherlock would think in the same situation but remembered that he describes himself as a high functioning sociopath. All the evidence points otherwise, however. Molly didn't know how he decided he was a sociopath, but that's not what Sherlock Holmes was.

She got to work, the only thing she really could do. As John rushed in, she began to feel sick. How could she do this?

Mrs Hudson was oblivious to the whole ordeal. She was finishing up with the bit of construction. She smiled at the man fixing up her flats. Sherlock and John were going to come back in a few hours.

"Thank you for all your hard work, today!" she beamed as she handed the man some money.

"Not a problem, Mrs H. If there are any more issues, feel free ta give us a call," he said as he accepted the money.

He walked out of Baker Street, a little grateful he didn't have to kill her. As he walked out, Lestrade finished coffee with an attractive woman. He got the call from John informing him of the not-so-graceful-jump of Sherlock Holmes.

"I'm so sorry, I have to go. Suicide at Bart's," he told the woman before rushing to the scene.

She looked into her bag at the gun and pushed a scarf over it. She was glad that Sherlock went through with it. She couldn't shoot Lestrade; he just paid for her coffee!

They were the close encounters. Mrs Hudson wasn't leaving her house and Lestrade is always everywhere. It was definite that John would come back to Bart's for Sherlock.

While the assassinators went back to their everyday life, Sherlock walked into Paris in a fabulous disguise. Even if Molly Hooper had been with him, she wouldn't have recognised him, not picked him out from a crowd of people.

Molly Hooper. Sherlock couldn't keep his mind off her. The woman who had saved his life. The woman who killed him. The woman who could do both. He felt guilty for causing her to run crying from her work. He was slack. He had time to organise her apology. He had time to choreograph the dance for the Homeless Network. But he didn't. And now, he was going to be busy until he had time to be alive again. He was going to make it up to her… somehow.

~oOo~

There was a timid knock on Molly's door about three months after Sherlock's death. With no word from him, she was beginning to think he had been murdered by criminals in a foreign country. She scampered to the door, hating to leave someone waiting.

She opened the door and stared at the man standing there. "Yes?"

"May I come in?" a familiar voice asked.

"Sh-Sherlock?" she asked, baffled as to how this stranger was the person she was in love with her.

"Not so loud, Doctor Hooper. Now, may I come in?" he asked in a lowered tone.

"Of course, sorry." She blushed and opened the door wider, allowing him to slip in.

She closed the door and locked it for good measure, despite Sherlock's eye roll and his harsh words of "I could get through those locks."

"It's great to see you, Sherlock. I was getting worried." She walked towards the man who was pacing around her flat. On one hand, she wanted to hug him.

On the other, she knew he wouldn't let her. "Wonderful. I need to talk to you," he said, ignoring her sentimental statement.

"Anything." She felt her heart drop knowing he wasn't here to see her.

"Moriarty's network has spread into the Ukraine. I've been there, taking down criminals. I'm not sure as to where the next road will be. I'm going to have to talk to Mycroft. I don't think that it's going to be in Europe, though. I might have to travel on a long flight. I'll need a new passport. Mycroft, again." He rambled on and on, saying things Molly didn't quite understand nor want to know. He talked about a knife wound in his abdomen and about how he murdered three men with one bullet and one knife stab. After about an hour of rambling and pacing, Sherlock stopped and looked at her. "How's John?"

"Not too good. He's fallen into depression. Erm, I think he's seeing his psychiatrist again."

"What about Mrs Hudson?"

"She's still in mourning. She visits your grave every day. So does John. I've seen him a few times."

"And how is Lestrade?" he asked, genuine concern laced in his words.

"He's worked himself away. I don't see him unless he comes in for a case. Anderson was fired. I heard he was going crazy over your death. Donovan is still a hard nut. She seems a bit upset, though. She does have emotions. She's not a sociopath."

"I don't care about Donovan and Anderson."

Molly nodded and looked around, feeling very awkward. "Alright. Well, I suppose that's everyone."

There were no words for Sherlock. He just nodded, trying to comprehend the fact his best friend was depressed again, his landlady was in mourning and his D.I. was pushing himself into work. Yes, Sherlock had passed them a few times in the street. He just wanted someone to confirm what he thought and Molly was one of the few he could talk to.

"How have you been?" he asked after a short pause.

"Fine. I've been fine," Molly lied through her teeth. She smiled at Sherlock, not wanting him to see the worry, the pain she felt over him. She had to lie to everyone and it was taking a toll on her.

But he saw. He saw. Again, a short pause as he looked at her. "Good. Look after yourself." He paced once more before sighing. "I have to go. I need to see Mycroft."

"Alright. It was great to see you, Sherlock," she said, a reassuring smile on her face, relief filling her that he hadn't noticed.

"I'll see you soon. I may need your assistance later in breaking the Moriarty web. Until then." He gave her a small bow before walking out of her flat.

"Bye, Sherlock," she whispered after him before closing the door.


	15. You Have Shattered All My Dreams

**A/N: Hey readers.**

**I've decided just to let you read the rest of the story in one chapter. It's not much, but I hope you like it.**

**Also, the title comes from a Tumblr prompt of 'character A is holding character B in their arms and singing ****_you are my sunshine _****while character B dies.' Thought that might interest you before you finish the story.**

**Also, I didn't say in the story, but I was asked about it. The reason Felix target Poppy and Molly was because Poppy broke his heart and he was going to break hers. He killed people who looked like her and stabbed them in the heart (I think i mentioned the heart stabbing in a previous thing where Molly saw them in the morgue). As for why Molly was targeted, she was just going to be another one of those girls. He would have killed her on that first date but Molly was in tears and, well, sentiment, i suppose. I think he saw her as someone else who was heart broken and he wanted to help her. When he found out that she knew about those he had killed, he realised it had to end before he was found out, i suppose. If anyone comes up with any theories, drop me a line.**

**Thanks.**

* * *

It had been a few months since Molly had first seen Sherlock again. So much had changed. She was still visiting his grave, talking to him about her day, wishing he would care. This was the closest, she felt, that she'd get to telling him about her life and him sitting through it, or lying through it in this case. Mrs Hudson had begun to live life as per usual. Lestrade and gotten back to his old ways. John, however, was stuck in a diabolic loop.

He wasn't eating much, he wasn't sleeping well, he was having war flashbacks and he sunk further and further into depression. Molly remembered Mrs Hudson came to her flat, sobbing on her shoulder. In between sobs, she was saying something about walking in on John with a gun in his hands, playing with it with a hopeless expression. An intervention was staged with Greg. John promised to continue seeing his psychiatrist, on a more regular basis.

It had only been about six months and John was contemplating suicide. Molly prayed she wouldn't have to be the one to tell Sherlock but she knew she would be.

She sat on her couch, contemplating what the world had come to when there was a pounding on the flat door. Molly frowned and looked over at it. It seemed to vibrate with every "knock". She got up and walked towards it, throwing it open.

"Yes?" she asked the stranger.

"Molly, darling, we have to get ready for the holiday. The cab's waiting. Do you have your bag?" the man asked before leaning in to her ear. "Grab you handbag and a small backpack with undergarments. I'll be waiting." He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek before moving away.

"J-just give me a second." She replied, knowing she had to go along with everything he said.

"Wonderful. I'll be in the cab." He smiled at her and walked away.

She marvelled at his wonderful disguises. Sherlock in all honesty did not look like himself. Despite having no knowledge of what was happening or who Sherlock was supposed to be, Molly grabbed as many pants and bras as she could, stuffing them in a backpack before grabbing her hand bag. She rushed out with the two bags, making sure to lock the door behind her, and she ran down to the cab.

Molly followed Sherlock around, keeping hot on his tail. From what she heard Sherlock say to various people as he handed over necessary paperwork, they were a couple going on holiday. This, of course, required hand holding and other (in Sherlock's opinion) unnecessary, unsanitary, and unhygienic actions such as small kisses and gazing at each other.

Blerch.

When they arrived in their hotel room in Berlin, Sherlock changed into his normal clothes and began to work on his laptop.

"How is everyone doing?" he asked her as he typed.

"Mrs Hudson and Greg are fine. They've gotten to their usual routine."

Sherlock frowned and stopped his fingers from moving. "And John? Mycroft gives me vague updates such as 'left the house for a few hours', 'had a coffee in the park'."

The woman gulped and hung her head. She felt guilt for having to tell Sherlock and for have letting John get to the state he was in. "Terrible. Horrendous, even."

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head a little. "What's he done?"

"Contemplated suicide. Mrs Hudson walked in when he stared down at the gun. She said there was no hope in his eyes, no life. His depression has increased. He's sick and he can't fix himself."

Sherlock buried his face in his hands. "I died to save him. He's taking back my efforts."

The guilt ate her inside. "I'm sorry. We had an intervention where he promised to take his drugs and to continue to see his psychiatrist."

"You don't have to apologise. It wasn't your fault." Sherlock stood up and sighed. "I need some fresh air. I'll come back in a few hours," he informed her before putting his disguise on again and walking out.

"I'm not going to well, either," she muttered a few moments after the door closed. "But I'll get through it. Don't worry about me."

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys.**

**I'm not good at the whole "if you or someone you know is contemplating suicide" thing. I'm sorry.**

**But if you are, please seek help, professional or otherwise. Talk to a trusted adult or talk to someone. Please.**

**I should have put more words into that. I'm really sorry. It's not my strong point.**

* * *

An hour later, there was a knock on the door. Molly jumped up from the bed and walked over. With a deep breath, she opened the door and smiled.

"I knew you'd forget the-"

She looked at the person standing there and tried to close the door. But Felix pushed the door, forcing Molly and himself into the room.

"Stay quiet, Doctor Hooper, if you want to live," he told her, duct taping her hands and mouth. "We're going on a little journey."

He slipped a bag over her head, fear coursing through her veins. A moment later, she was guided out of the room and down some stairs. She felt the tears running down her cheeks as they walked further away from the room she shared with Sherlock and away from the security she once had. She felt the wind bite at her legs as she rushed across a park with Felix. After half an hour of walking, she was shoved into a car. They drove about, not stopping for any reason except once. Felix wanted an ice-cream form McDonalds so they went through the drive through, the tinted glass shielding Molly from any people trying to look in.

They drove for hours and Molly guessed they weren't even in Germany anymore. As she was letting her guard down, the car pulled up somewhere and the car was turned off. She was pushed out of the car and forced to walk.

Molly had never been more petrified in her entire life. She couldn't imagine how she'd get out of this one. While another tear rolled down her cheek and the bag was torn away from her face, Sherlock swiped a card, allowing him access to his hotel room.

He just couldn't believe that John Watson was suicidal and there was nothing Sherlock could do to help his best friend without endangering everyone he cares about. There was something about imagining Mrs Hudson's limp body, covered in blood that had him keep as far away from John, Lestrade and the woman as possible.

"Molly, we have to go to dinner in a few minutes," he called out before walking towards the bathroom. "Where are you? For Christs sake, we're in a foreign country for obvious reasons, don't do this now."

Silence resonated around him and he sighed before evaluating the evidence. He looked at the entrance and a few feet from it. "Shit," he grumbled before snatching a paper taped to the wall.

_Evening, Mr Holmes. I've got your Molly and we're going on a vacation. Your Molly's a little tied up at the moment. The only noise coming from her is muffled sobs. I recommend you find her before 24 hours is up or you won't find her alive. We're ending this, Sherlock, once and for all. Come and get me._

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Sherlock analysed the paper, reading into whatever he could. He had to save Molly. She couldn't die here. Sherlock had dragged her away and he'd be damned if this was how she died.

Sherlock opened the door and looked out, trying to find a clue as to what happened. He traced her steps, looking at the hints of struggle. He followed them down to the back of the hotel and followed the tire tracks. Sherlock walked along the roads, taking the appropriate corners. He followed as the car left the city and out into the country side. The tire tracks went on. For hours, he walked along roads.

It had been 23.5 hours when he arrived to Molly. He took a deep breath and got ready before walking into the barn house at the end of the journey.

"Good evening," Sherlock said as he strode in. "Sorry I'm cutting it so close. Traffic."

Felix looked over at Sherlock and smirked. "Thank you for joining us. We wee just getting to the exciting part, weren't we, Molly?" he asked, turning around to look at the woman, taped to a chair in the back of the room.

He walked over to her, pulling a knife from his pocket, and ran the tip of the knife over Molly's face. She wasn't being cut but she could feel it pressing.

"Let her go. She's not involved in this. This is between you and me," Sherlock reasoned.

Felix contemplated it and nodded. "Yes. I'm going to have to agree." He ripped the tape from her mouth and cut away the tape binding her to the chair. "Off you pop, Molly. This'll be the last time you see me," he told her, looking over at Sherlock. "But it'll also be the last time you see him."

Once free, she ran out of the barn, looking at Sherlock as she did. She mouthed 'sorry' before continuing on, not even being acknowledged by the detective. Molly stood outside the door, able to hear everything going on inside.

"Well, Sherlock," Felix said, Molly imagining he had paced towards the detective. "This is the end."

"Indeed it is. And you're not walking out of this one," Sherlock threatened.

"On the contrary, _you _won't be walking out. In fact, I think we'll start this now."

There was a groan from Sherlock and a snicker from Felix. "Never take a knife to a shootout, Felix."

With a bang, there was silence from the two men and Molly gasped. She rushed into the barn and looked over at Felix. He was lying on the ground, blood spilling out from his head. Sherlock was slumped to the ground, his hands over the wound, blood dripping from him.

"Sherlock!" Molly yelled and ran over to her friend.

He winced in pain as she knelt beside him and tried to move his fingers.

"No. Molly, please. Don't touch it. It's too late," he groaned out, sweat forming on his forehead.

"I'll call an ambulance," she reassured him while pulling out her phone from her pocket.

"No. You don't know the number or where we are. Also, I'll get in trouble and Felix is dead. You can't put us in that much trouble." He moved his head onto her lap with a bit of difficulty. "Just stroke my head and sing to me, please?"

Molly felt the tears welling in her eyes as she began to play with his hair. "Y-you are my sunshine, my only sunshine," she began. The tears rolled down her cheeks as she sang. "You make me happy when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." Her voice cracked as she got further into it.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked when she took a pause.

"Yeah?"

"Do you forgive me?"

Molly's eyebrows crinkled together and her lips turned down. "For what?"

"For what I said to you so long ago. When you first went to go out with Felix. I got angry at you. I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?"

Molly sniffed when he finished. "Of course I do. I'll always forgive you."

He looked up at Molly and smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

The doors slammed open and there was a large sigh. Molly's head snapped over to the intruder to see the eldest Holmes boy.

"Miss Hooper, I do wish Sherlock left you out of all of this," Mycroft said before walking towards his brother. "And deceiving her. Shame on you, Sherlock. We don't deceive those who matter. We discussed this. I've been saying the same thing since the beginning, Sherlock." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "He's wearing a stab proof vest and there are packets of fake blood lining it. Unbeknown to you, we had a tracker on your phone and Sherlock knows you always keep it on you. Furthermore, we organised the stab proof vest. So get up off the floor, Sherlock, you're embarrassing yourself."

Sherlock grumbled before standing up and taking the knife from his torso. The blood gushed out and Sherlock watched it stain his disguise. Molly sat there with wide eyes. "W-what?"

"Sorry, Molly. It had to be done. I think we need to go back to Berlin and pack our things. You're going back to London," Sherlock told her while taking off his coats and ripping the stab proof vest off.

~oOo~

For the next six months, Sherlock had taken Molly out on cases when he needed someone else. He found out what was happening with the people he cared about and he got to talk to someone other than Mycroft for a change.

At once stage, he had to visit John. John was off his face, sobbing on his bed, a gun sitting beside him. Mrs Hudson was away on holidays to visit her niece (according to Mycroft). Another night, John was suicidal and that night was Sherlock's birthday. The year before, they went out for a beer or two, Lestrade with them. They had a night out before coming back to the flat and playing card games. Here John was, a smashed, sobbing mess with a gun beside him.

"John," Sherlock said, standing in the middle of the room.

"S-Sherlock." The drunk man stumbled up and toddled over to the detective. He threw his arms around him and cried. "I've missed you, so much. I can't handle this anymore."

"You have to. Please. For me, you have to handle this." Sherlock wrapped his arms around his drunk friend.

"I can't. I can't," he sobbed into Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head a little. "John, please. I need you to do this for me. I need you to keep yourself alive, safe and healthy. You're wasting yourself away and we can't have that, can we?"

"I need you."

"I need you too, and that's why you have to help yourself. If you don't, I'm going to be very upset. Think of Mrs Hudson, of Lestrade, of Molly, of London. They all need you, John. They need you almost as much as I need you. I need my best friend to be safe. You lock that gun away somewhere and don't you dare do this again."

"O-okay, Sherlock. Okay. I'll try my best."

"You better because if I hear again of Mrs Hudson walking in to see you with a gun, I'm going to punch you so hard," Sherlock threatened.

John gave a small laugh and squeezed Sherlock tighter. "Please don't leave me."

"I have to, John. But I'll be back. Just keep your eye open for a familiar face." Sherlock disliked how long this hug was going on for but he couldn't leave John like this.

"No! No- even for now, just stay. Five more minutes, don't go."

Sherlock looked down to see his Hobbit sized friend with tears in his eyes. "Alright. I won't go yet. But I can't stay for long."

He tucked John into bed, pocketing the gun while he had the chance. "S-Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Will you sing to me?"

"Don't be absurd, John."

John laughed another small laugh and closed his eyes while drifting off to sleep. "Such a Sherlock Holmes thing to say."

With a small smile, Sherlock perched on John's desk and watched as his blogger fell asleep. Sherlock didn't believe the myth of a deity who watched over people, a creator. But on this rare occasion, Sherlock felt compelled to pray for this soul, for the twisted soul that belonged to John Watson. He wanted to pray that John got better, that John recovers, that John doesn't do anything and that the duo can go on cases again in the near future. He prayed that God, or whatever deity it was, watched over John when he couldn't.

~oOo~

In the heart of a small American city, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper (under the aliases of Richard Motrige and Daisy Motrige) were tackling one of the final threads of Moriarty's web. After this, Mycroft could prepare to clear Sherlock's name. It had been a year and a month since Sherlock's fall and he was determined to be cleared by the time two years was up.

Richard and Daisy were enjoying lunch when Richard looked up at his wife. "Tell me more about her, this Mary."

"She's a lovely woman, very pretty and kind. Erm, she's really helped out John as well. He's finally on the road of recovery. We've been out to brunch, Mary and I, and she really likes John. I think I have a photo on my phone…"

"No, don't bother. I'll deduce what I can when I meet her." Sherlock wiped his mouth with a napkin and frowned at Molly. "I was going to do a large, formal apology for you but I haven't had a chance to choreograph a dance for the Homeless Network. I had a few other plans, though, and I think I can work on two of them."

Molly frowned back at the man and cocked her head. "I don't quite understand."

"That apology from when I was stabbed by your psychotic ex-boyfriend. I was going to be a bit more theatrical about it. I have some plans to make it up to you, don't worry."

That didn't clear any of the confusion, but Molly just nodded. "Great. I'll be looking forward to it."

"We haven't talked about you. How are you going?" Sherlock asked all of a sudden.

"Oh. I- er, yes. We haven't talked much about me. I'm fine."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her. "You're lying, I know you are. I can see it in your eyes. How are you? How has life been for Molly Hooper?"

With those words, the dam wall began to break. Molly felt her eyes well with tears and she ended up spilling to Sherlock all the fear, all the worry, all the anxiety she's had over him, John, and everyone she cares about. And Sherlock only sat there with wide eyes.

* * *

It had been about a week after her last interaction with Sherlock and Molly was busy in the morgue, finishing up yet another autopsy. She was struggling to concentrate and was wondering how long until her break when there was a knock on the door. She jumped and looked over at the source of the sound. No-one had entered the room. Was the knock part of her imagination? She decided to call out, just in case.

"Erm, come in?"

The door opened and two men walked in, one being Sherlock in a disguise and the other being a man she'd never seen before.

"Molly! How are you?" disguised Sherlock asked while approaching her. He gave her air kisses and pointed at the stranger. "This is my friend, Tom. I told him that he simply had to meet you, and well, he's been pestering me for some time, now! Tom, Molly Hooper. Absolute adorbs, did I not tell you so?" Sherlock said in his odd speech pattern.

"Nice to meet you, Molly. Sebastian insisted that we met, I swear," Tom said, flashing her an adorable smile.

"Not a problem. That's the type of person Seb is, anyway." She looked over at Sherlock who nodded and his hand slid into his pocket. A few seconds later, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. "I'm really sorry, but I have to finish up my work."

"Alright, sorry for imposing on your wok. Erm, is it too forward to give you my number before I head out?" he asked. Molly felt her heart stop.

"N-no, that's quite alright." She pulled out a spare paper and pen to hand to him.

Sherlock looked between the two and sent a wink to Molly before clearing his throat. "I'll be outside, Tom. Tootles, Molly!"

"Yeah, tootles, Seb." He walked out as Molly handed Tom the paper. He scrawled his details as fast as possible and handed it back. "I'll call you."

"Great! I- uh, I'll be off, then. Bye Molly, it was great to meet you." He smiled at her, his cheeks tinging red as he spoke.

"Bye, Tom," she replied and watched as he retreated out of the morgue.

As soon as the door closed, she pulled out her phone. _He's completely safe. I did my research. Straight, no personality disorders, you're in the clear. He was the son of my last client and I told him I knew the nicest woman. He also thinks we're 2__nd__ cousins or something. Finally, he's part of my apology. Enjoy the rest of your day, sunshine. –SH._

Molly smiled as she read the text. She sure could use a date with a regular, non-psychotic person and Tom seemed perfect for the job.

~oOo~

The last time Molly Hooper heard from Sherlock Holmes before he came "back" to life was a few weeks after he introduced Tom to her. She was sitting in her flat at the time when the phone rang. Of course, Molly ran to answer it, worried it'd be Mycroft telling her Sherlock was dead.

"Hello?" she rushed.

"Molly."

"Sherlock. Where are you?"

"That's not important. I'm not going to see you again for a while, I'm afraid."

Molly frowned at his words. Her eyebrows crinkled as she tried to comprehend his statement. "Why?"

"I'm sorry, Molly Hooper. For everything."

"You don't have to apologise. Besides, you did already."

"No. You don't understand. I'm apologising for every snide comment I've made, all that I've put you through, everything. I'm sorry."

"Are you in trouble?"

Sherlock laughed before replying. "I'm always in trouble. Not death trouble, though. I will see you again. It'll just be after I've been reunited with John. How is he, anyway?"

"He's well. He and Mary are very happy together. I think they were talking of moving in together soon."

"How are Lestrade and Mrs Hudson?"

"They've gotten on with their lives. Both are happy. Lestrade mentioned getting back together with his wife…"

"That's good. How are you?"

"I've been better."

There was silence as Sherlock hoped for more of an answer. "And?"

"And what? I've been better. Work's been dull. I haven't done much lately. I've been on a few dates with Tom, I'm somewhat happy. I've been better."

"Alright. I'll see you soon, Molly."

"Yes. Goodbye. Be safe."

"I'll try my best," Sherlock said with his fingers crossed before hanging up. He turned around and looked at the weak links that were considered Moriarty's main men. "Right. Let's get down to business."


End file.
